


twenty one years (and questionable decisions)

by ihavetoomuchfreetime



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: HBD NIALL, LMAO, M/M, Niall Centric, Other, Tattoos, crack fic i suppose, i really like brunet niall, overuse of the word really amongst other things, swearing but when is there not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:30:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihavetoomuchfreetime/pseuds/ihavetoomuchfreetime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which niall is tired of being seen as a baby, because he's twenty one fucking years old, dammit. josh is a bit of an emotionally estranged twat, esteban is the best tattooist around and niall really needs new friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	twenty one years (and questionable decisions)

**Author's Note:**

> i really have not a fucking clue where this came from. I just really like brunet!niall. and tattooed!niall. all the punk!niall feelings. unbeta'd and i wrote this in like three hours and i'm ill so excuse everything to do with this.
> 
> happy (belated) birthday niall. please get a tattoo.

**twenty-one years (and questionable decisions)**

//

Niall is a _man_ , damnit. Niall is a grown arse man, with a penis (because Liam once sat him down and gave him a lengthy lecture about how not all men have penises and now Niall is striving to be as politically correct as he possibly can be) and testosterone and a lot of money and a questionable sense of entitlement, but he is a man and he refuses to be treated otherwise.

Which is why he despises it when he’s called cute. Ugh, what even is that despicable word?

He is not _cute_. Cute is for babies and fat dogs and maybe Harry when he puts on his pink tutu’s and sparkly nail polish and wears pink butterfly clips in his curls as he runs around backstage, but it is not for Niall. Maybe five years ago, when he was practically pre-pubescent and auditioning for X-Factor, but not now, for fuck’s sakes.

Hot? Yes. Sexy? He’d like to think so. But _cute_? Fuck that.

He is not that cherubic kid from Ireland with rosy cheeks and poorly bleached hair, crooked teeth and a questionable sense of fashion. He is twenty-one, tall (ish), rich, somewhat muscular with a hairy chest and a fairly large cock and he is not cute. Jesus.

“But you _are_ cute, Niall,” Liam insists, pinching his cheeks, and Niall slaps his hands away and glares at him crossing his arms, but Liam coos at him. “See! Even when you do that, you look like a petulant toddler and it just makes you look all that more cute!”

“I am not cute, Liam!” Niall says for what feels like the fiftieth time that day. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again; cute is for -”

“-Babies, dogs and sometimes Harry,” Zayn, Louis and Harry chime in, “and not for me.”

Niall glares. He needs new friends. “Yeah, and fuck you too.”

“I don’t see what the problem is, to be honest,” Harry says, taking a massive bite of his banana. “If people called me cute, I’d lap it up as if it were jizz.”

Oh, gross. “First, ew,” Niall grimaces, wrinkling his nose, “and second; that’s the thing! People don’t call you cute! Well. Apart from Louis. And Paul. And your mum. But other than that, our fans seem to think that you’re some sort of etereal sex god, or summat.”

“I thought that was me?” Zayn questions, arching an eyebrow as he swallows a mouthful of water, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“That is you Zayn,” Liam says with a blush and Harry says, ‘aw’ and Niall is going to be sick. Couples, honestly.

“Alright, alright, back to me, now,” Niall demands, clicking his fingers so that the attention is back on him. “I just want people to stop calling me cute.”

“But does anyone even call you cute, Ni?” Louis asks, as he wraps a hand around Harry’s waist. “Like, I thought people stopped after you - y’know. Hit puberty.”

Niall throws a waterbottle and it hits Louis square in the chest. “Fuck you,” Niall sighs, “and no, people still call me cute - y’know. Liam’s the kind one, Harry’s the womaniser, Zayn’s the sexy one -”

“Get in,” Zayn grins.

“- Louis’ the sporty one and I’m the cute one.” He sighs heavily and buries his face in the pillow. “Is this what Baby Spice felt like?”

“It can’t be that, bad, Ni,” Liam consoles, rubbing a hand up and down Niall’s back. “You stil get laid.”

“Occasionally,” Niall adds. “The girls and that I could hook up with coo at and giggle at me when I offer to buy ‘em a drink.”

“Probably doesn’t help that you own a rainbow snapback,” Zayn comments and Niall growls into his pillow. His friends are useless.

“I just want to not be _cute_!” Niall whines into the pillow, albeit muffled because his face is buried into the fabric. He lifts his head and points at Liam. “You.”

Liam looks confused. “Me?”

“Yes. How did you get people to stop thinking you were cute?” Niall demands. “What did you _do_?”

Liam considers for a few moments, and then says, “I didn’t do anything. I guess when I cut off my curls -” Zayn whines and mutters something along the lines of I loved those curls, Leeyum, “- and started working out and got a couple of tattoos, nobody really called me Daddy Direction.” Liam sighs wistfully. “Ah, to be adored by hormonal teenage girls.”

“I still call you Daddy,” Zayn whispers and Niall gags, standing up from the couch and storming out of the room, a trail of giggles following him out of the door.

His friends are useless and couples are _gross_.

//

“Right,” Niall says to his reflection, “hair. Hair is important.”

He plays with his brunet - blonde locks with his fingers and sighs. He’s had his hair this colour for God knows how long, and he’s not really sure how it managed to grow to the point where the back of his hair can almost tickle his shoulders. The last thing he needs is to grow his hair out and have flowing blonde locks that whip in the wind. That’s not sexy. It’s cute, and Niall hates cute.

A haircut. And probably a different colour, he thinks, sighing.

He reaches down so that his fingers curl around the hem of his shirt and he yanks it over his head and dumps the article of clothing somewhere on the bathroom floor. He stands before himself, shirtless, pale as fuck and skinny and lean as anything.

He looks like a fucking eleven year old.

“Holy fuck,” Niall sighs tiredly as he inspects himself. He’s got muscle, but not enough - it’s lean muscle that clings to his little bones, barely giving him any sort of definition that he recently has been craving. Muscles are sexy. The body of a kid who is ten years younger is not. He makes a mental note to visit the gym with Liam and Harry later.

And another thing he notices is that he’s so bare. There aren’t any inky black lines or intricate patterns to decorate his milky white skin. He’s the odd one out in the band, the one without the numerous tattoos that adorn his body like Zayn’s or Liam’s or Harry’s or Louis’. He looks like a little boy standing next to them.

Tattoos, though? They’re - they’re just so _permanent_. And what if he doesn’t like it in ten years? What if it looks horribly disfigured once his metabolism slows down and he gets a pot belly similar to his father’s? What if it looks so awkward - a large black design on contrasting with his white skin. It’ll looks so out of place, but -

He won’t lie. He’s considered getting a tattoo before. There has been countless times when he’s oggled at the designs on his friend’s skin, tracing over them delicately with his forefinger. He’s been fascinated by them, and he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t the slightest bit curious.

He sighs at his reflection. Maybe one tattoo. It can’t be that bad. It can be small, and somewhere inconspicuous, and if he doesn’t like it, then nobody has to see it. There. Problem solved.

He reaches down and pulls his shirt over his head. He smiles at his reflection and tries not to think about the decisions that he’s made in the past few minutes that he may or may not come to despise in years time.

But whatever. YOLO, and all that jazz.

//

Niall pokes his head around the door of the hair and makeup room where Lou sits, texting on her phone.

“Lou!” Niall greets with a beam, strolling up to her and enveloping her in an uncomfortable hug. “How’s my favourite stylist?”

“What do you want, Niall?” She deadpans, wriggling out of his arms. “Did you get gum in Zayn’s hair again?”

Niall gasps, thoroughly offended. “That was one time,” he whines, “and Louis had something to do with it, too!”

She folds her arm and cocks an eyebrow, tapping her foot on the floor. “Uh huh. Why are you here?”

“Can’t I just visit you without an ulterior motive?”

She snorts. “Alright, yeah, pull another one, McIntyre.”

He frowns. He was always transparent to her. “Fine. I need - I need a favour.”

She sighs heavily. “I’m not dyeing your pubes.”

Niall gags. Really? “Really?” He asks incredulously. “No - that’s not what I’m here for.”

“I’m not waxing your balls, either.”

“Lou,” he pleads, and she relents, a smile tugging at her lips. “Please.”

She sighs, and points him to the chair in front of the mirror and he sits down, looking at her with his large blue eyes in the reflection.

“Lou?” he asks.

“Niall.”

“Do you think I’m cute?” He queries, fiddling with his fingers. She frowns.

“Of course I do, bubs,” she says, pinching his cheeks. “What’s not cute about you?”

He groans, rolling his eyes. “That,” he grumbles, “is the point.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not following.”

“Basically,” he begins, spinning the chair around so he’s facing her, “I don’t want to be called cute. I want to be sexy, or hot. Not cute.”

“What’s wrong with being cute?”

“Babies are cute. Theo is cute. Dogs are cute. Grown millionaires with chest hair and a reasonably sized cock such as myself are not.”

She grins at him. “Ah, I see. So,” she says, spinning him around so he’s facing the mirror again. “you want to reinvent yourself.”

Niall sighs with relief. Finally someone gets it. “Exactly.”

“And I suppose the blonde hair doesn’t help, eh?” Niall shakes his head as she rakes a finger through his hair. “You wanna go back to natural?”

“Maybe darker?” Niall suggests. “And a hell of a lot shorter. Like - quiffy. How it used to be.”

She hums in assent, and fetches a towel to sling over his front. She gathers her equipment - the dye, scissors, combs, hair dryer and the like - but she pauses before she proceeds.

“You sure this is what you want?”

Niall nods furiously without hesitation. “Definitely,” he says with uttermost conviction.

“Alright,” she sighs. “No backsies.”

//

“Are you done?”

“Almost,” Lou says, adding finishing touches. After a beat, she says, “alright. You can open your eyes now.”

He slowly pries his eyes open and his jaw literally drops.

He looks - fuck. He looks so different - no more blonde streaks that adorn his hair; it’s now almost jet black, contrasting massively with his wide, striking blue eyes. It’s a lot shorter now, too - faded on the sides and then styled neatly into a messy sort of quiff. It resembles how it used to, but slightly more styled like Zayn’s. And - shit. Shit. He looks so different. No longer does he look like Niall HoranTM, the not-so-innocent kid from Mullingar, Ireland, but now -

Now he looks fucking badass. And he loves it.

“Shit,” he breathes, finally. “ _Shit_.”

“D’you like it?” Lou asks, biting her lip. “Did I go too short, or -”

Niall gets up and kisses her twice on both cheeks before squeezing her in his arms. “I love it! You’re the best.”

“I know, darling,” she says as he skips out of the room, “You’re welcome!”

//

Right.

Hair: sorted.

Tattoos? He swallows. Yet to tick of his checklist on How Not To Look Pre-Pubescent.

And, he doesn’t exactly want to go to Zayn about this - he’ll probably frown and pinch his cheeks, cooing about how he “doesn’t want his little brother to grow up!” which is ridiculous, because a) Niall is only eight months younger and b) Zayn is far too protective over matters such as these.

He could go to Harry. But Harry will probably whine and cling onto his legs and say, “I want you to be a tattoo virgin forever, Ni!” And - just, no. Abso-fucking-lutely not.

Liam is out of the question. Liam will assume the fatherly figure that he sometimes slips into and Niall will end up having to have a long conversation about tattoos and decisions and are you sure you’re making a good one? and - ugh, fuck that.

Louis would probably laugh and strut away on his ridiculous legs, so. No.

And who does that leave? He could just go by himself, but knowing himself, he’d probably cry and clutch the tattooist for dear life and holy fuck that would be embarrassing. He needs moral and emotional support.

So that’s why he begs Josh.

“Please come with me,” Niall begs. “I don’t wanna go alone.”

Josh laughs and twirls his drumstick between his fingers. “Why don’t you ask the lads?”

“Because,” Niall says petulantly, resisting the urge to stamp his foot, “they’ll be all annoying about it.”

“What about Luke? Or Michael, or Ashton? Calum?”

“No,” Niall whines. “M’asking you. I want you -”

“Na, na,” Josh sings, interrupting Niall with a grin. Now is not the time for Beyoncé (which is kind of a lie, because when is it not time for the lightskinned princess?).

“Josh,” he says, puppy eyes displayed, “ _please_.”

“I dunno…”

“ _Please_ ,” Niall pleads again, jutting out his bottom lip for good measure.

“Do you even have a design?” Josh asks, eyebrow raised, “Or are you just going to cry YOLO and go in headfirst?”

“Of course I have a design,” Niall lies easily, because it speeds the process up. “Please.”

Josh sighs and fishes his key out of his pocket. “Fine,” he says and Niall beams. “I know a guy. Good price.”

“You’re making it sound like some sort of illegal parlor,” Niall says with a smile, and Josh just arches a brow and laughs.

“Who says it isn’t?”

Niall gulps. For the sake of his blood and the fear of getting AIDS, he hope it is isn’t.

//

It isn’t, thank God.

They pull up to a lavish looking studio and Niall hops out of the car, skipping towards the building with Josh in tow. Niall swings open the doors and takes a deep breath in. It smells like ink and sterile instruments. That’s a good sign. Nothing like the smell of safe equipment and a legal practice of body art to clear his doubts.

“Josh!” A man at the front desk greets with a grin. He’s about their age, with copious tattoos on his neck, arms and hands, and even a couple on his face. He’s got a piercing in every single possible place in both ears, as well as a nose ring, two lip rings and an eyebrow piercing. Niall would be lying if he said that he isn’t the slightest bit inimitated.

“Esteban, my man,” Josh beams, doing some weird sort of handshake thing that requires a fist bump and an awkward hug. “How goes it?”

“Decent, decent,” Esteban smiles, digging his hand in his pockets. “So! What can I do for you today?”

“Not for me, m’afraid,” Josh says with a smile. “My mate Niall wants to get his first tattoo done. I’m the friend who holds the hand.”

“Ah,” Esteban smiles, beaming at Niall who shakily returns the smile. “A tattoo virgin, yeah?”

Niall smile awkwardly. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“It’s all good, dude. Do you have a design?”

Niall grimaces. “Yeah...no.”

“I thought you said you had one?” Josh asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Um, I lied? I knew you wouldn’t come unless I had one, so I lied. Sorry,” he adds awkwardly and Josh just rolls his eyes.

“No worries, bro, I can sketch one for you real quick, yeah?” Esteban says with a smile.

Niall nods his head and beams. “That’d be ace, yeah.”

Esteban smiles and gestures for Niall to follow him to the back of the parlour. Esteban leads them to a small room with a two chairs, a cushioned seat under a light and a small desk with a sketchpad and couple of pens littering the surface. Esteban gestures for Niall to take a seat and Niall does, reclining in the seat and nervously fiddling with his fingers.

“So!” Esteben breathes as plonks himself into the chair, grabbing a pencil and the sketchpad. “What did you have in mind?”

And Niall did think he wanted something relatively small, but he’s not really someone to do something half-arsed. YOLO, right?

(Absentmindedly, he wonders when lyrics to a Drake song began to dictate his permanent life decisions.)

“Maybe a sleeve?” Niall suggests, “or half a sleeve. Yeah.”

“Half a sleeve,” Esteban says. “You sure?”

Niall doesn’t hesitate. “Positive.”

“Alright, dude,” Esteban says, rolling his finger between his fingers. “Any ideas?”

Niall shrugs. “Well. I dunno, maybe a bunch of things? Like - a celtic cross, huge and like, really detailed?” Esteban nods, his hand flying over the paper. “And surrounded by intricate patterns that are vaguely Irish? A dragon, or some shit. I dunno.”

“Vaguely Irish?” Josh asks with a laugh. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m thinking,” Niall shushes and turns back to Esteban. “And four, um, like - not hearts, cause that’ll look stupid, but maybe, four, um, feathers? Like one for each of my best mates.”

Esteban nods again and sketches for a couple more seconds before he turns his sketchpad around to show Niall and - wow. Niall’s description was utter shit, but Esteban’s somehow made it look fucking _amazing_.

The sketch shows a dragon wrapped around the vague sketching of a forearm and then a reasonably sized celtic cross adorned with swirls and waves all weaving together sitting just underneath the elbow. The four feathers are sketched onto a hand, each feather on a knuckle and - yeah. Yeah. Niall really likes it.

“So, do you like it? Or -”

“S’fuckin’ ace, that,” Niall breathes. “Yeah, definitely want that.”

Esteban beams. “Right, then! I’ll just get a stencil sorted and then we’ll get started, yeah?”

Niall nods and smiles as Esteban leaves the room. And as soon as the door closes, a subtle chill of dread fills Niall, seeping into each capillary.

Fuck. Fucking fuck shitballs. Why did he think this was a good idea? He is going to get ink stabbed into his skin for a lengthy period of time, and that ink will be permanent and fuck, fuck -

“Niall?” Josh says, smiling beside him. “Alright mate?”

“Why didn’t you talk me out of this?” Niall whines, frowning at his friend beside him. “You know I can’t make good decisions!”

“If you remember correctly, you were fucking adamant about me taking you,” Josh says with a smirk, “and we both know that you’re going to grow some balls and get tatted, so. And it’ll be done before you know it,” Josh adds, leaning back in his chair. “Chill.”

Niall pouts. “You’re not very good at this comforting thing.”

Josh sighs, closes his eyes with a smile on his lips. “Maybe you should’ve got Harry to come with you.”

And, really. Fuck Josh. He needs new friends.

Esteban comes into the room, holding the stencil in his hand with a smile on his lips. “Ready, Niall?”

Niall swallows, his eyes flicking to the tattoo gun that lies on a metal tray on the other side of the room. “No,” he admits honestly. “Pretty fuckin’ nervous, to be honest.”

“Aw, you’ll be fine,” Esteban soothes, sincerity lacing his voice, and yeah - Niall kinda does feel a bit better.

“Thanks,” Niall says with a sigh, and turns to Josh. “See? Esteban’s better at comforting me than you are,”

Josh flips him off, Niall sighs and Esteban laughs. “Right,” Esteban says, wiping Niall’s arm and placing the stencil over it, “let’s get started, yeah?”

Holy fuckin’ shit. This is actually happening. Niall doesn’t throw up.

(But he does piss his pants. Just a litte, but nobody has to know.)

//

Four hours, three bouts of tears and one very cramped hand later, Esteban leans back in his chair and smiles at Niall. “All done, mate!”

Niall pries his eye open. “Really?”

“Really really, Shrek,” Esteban laughs, taking his gloves off. “Do you want a mirror?”

Niall nods his head ferverently and Esteban pulls out a large hand mirror from a drawer behind himand hands it to Niall who grips the handle with trembling fingers.

And -

Holy shit. _Holy shit_.

It looks - it looks really fucking good.

It’s better than it looked on paper - Esteban used shades of green for the cross and blacks and reds for the scales of the dragon, little specks of gold and white that make the tattoo look that much more professional looking. The dragon’s tail flicks around his wrist and down the back of his hand to the tip of his pinkie finger, where the first feather is situated, and - holy fuckin’ shit the feathers. He forgets that they’ve been tattooed on, judging how the line work is pillowy soft looking, and Niall reaches out to touch it but winces at the pain.

“Yeah,” Esteban remarks with a grimace, “you probably shouldn’t touch it yet.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Niall says through gritted teeth, “but dude. It looks amazing.”

“Yeah, seconded,” Josh adds with a breath of amazement. “That’s like the sickest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

Esteban beams. “You’re both too kind,” he blushes. “Now, how ‘bout we wrap it up, yeah?”

Niall nods his head and holds out his arm for Esteban to rub with some sort of healing or soothing balm and then wrapping it in clingfilm, all the while telling him about the standard protocol when it comes for caring and looking after freshly done tattoos. Niall nods and makes sounds of agreement, but he’s not really listening because holy fuck his tattoo looks amazing.

“Right! So, that’s about it,” Esteban says, standing up. “Any questions or d’you just wanna pay?”

“How much do I owe you?” Niall asks, standing up off the chair, taking his wallet out of his back pocket. Ah, how he loves how thick and heavy it is. Being financially secure is such a wonderful thing, Niall thinks.

“Four fifty,” Esteban says, and Niall takes out five notes from his wallet, pushing it to Esteban’s hand.

“Keep the change, yeah?” He winks, and Esteban grins.

“Safe, bro. I’ll be seein you, then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall says, grinning. The bump fists, and Josh and Esteban do their weird handshake thing again, before both boys walk out of the parlour and climb back into Josh’s car.

“How do you feel?” Josh asks as they pull away from the curb.

“Really fucking awesome,” Niall grins. He’s almost bouncing in his seat from the excitement and adrenalin rushing to his brain, lighting his insides on fire. He can’t _wait_ to see the lads’ faces.

//

Niall pulls his hoodie over his head and pulls the sleeves down so his new image remains inconspicuous. When he and Josh reach the hotel, he’s up to his room in a flash, trying as hard as he can to get to his room without being spotted by any of the boys.

He manages to do so, and when he’s in his room, he flops down on the bed with a heavy sigh, smiling at the ceiling.

He really can’t wait to see their faces.

//

And two days later, when Niall emerges from his bedroom wearing a tank top and no hoodie, everyone pauses and all eyes fix on him.

“What,” Louis begins, “the _fuck_ have you done to yourself?”

Niall frowns. He was expecting more smiles, but instead he’s greeted by Louis’ incredulous stare and Liam’s dropped jaw, and Harry’s confused by amused smile and Zayn’s raised eyebrows.

“Um.” Niall bites his lip. “I dyed my hair?” Isn’t it fucking obvious?

Louis rolls his eyes. “I’m aware, thank you.” He strides over to Niall and narrows his eyes. “But why?”

Niall shrugs. “I wanted a new look.”

“And you decided to go with the I-look-like-a-fucking-tool makeover, then?” Louis snaps and Niall’s the crease between Niall’s brows increase.

“Oi,” Liam cuts in, “I don’t think he looks like a tool. It’s - it’s...um…”

“Different,” Zayn supplies. “New. Surprising. Different.”

Harry tilts his head. “Fuckin’ weird is what it is."

Niall sighs heavily and picks at the clingfilm wrapped around his arm. Louis’ eyes follow Niall’s movements and widen comically when he sees it, and he look as if he has a small seizure.

“Oh my god,” he whispers. “You got a _tattoo_?!”

Zayn sits bolt upright, eyes wide with shock. “A _tattoo_ , Niall?”

“Um,” Niall coughs awkwardly, “more like a sleeve.”

“A _sleeve_?!”

“Well. Half a sleeve,” Niall says, biting his lip again. “I just -”

Louis sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, just like he does before he flies into a destructive spiral of rage. Niall takes a cautionary step back.

“And why did you get a tattoo?”

“Why did you get a tattoo?” Niall shoots back. It’s not his best comeback, he’ll admit.

“This isn’t about me, you idiot,” Louis says tiredly. “Is that where you fucked off too, then? A tattoo parlour?”

Niall nodded. “Mhm. Josh took me.”

“Well. I like it.”

All eyes turn to where Liam’s sitting on the sofa, his eyebrows raised. “What? I dunno why - look, he’s allowed to do shit without us know. One Direction isn’t a cult.”

“Debateable, judging by some fans,” Zayn murmurs under his breath.

“And anyway,” Harry adds, “it’s not like we tell Niall before any of us get tattoos, right?”

Louis just rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “Come on then. Let’s ‘ave a look.”

Niall raises confused eyebrow. “What?”

“Your tattoo, Niall James. Let me have a peek.”

Niall complies, unwrapping the clingfilm so that his new body work is on display, and when it’s healed it looks even better than it did when it was fresh.

“Wow,” Liam comments.

“Nice,” Zayn smiles.

“Hm,” Louis hums.

“I like it!” Harry beams, “what does it mean?”

Niall shrugs. “Nothing really, I suppose.”

Louis frowns. “Tattoos are supposed to have meaning, dimwit.” He smacks Niall upside his head and Niall flinches, rubbing the abused spot.

“Really, Louis?” He challenges. “What does the cup of tea on your arm mean, then?”

Louis fishmouths, “I - well,” and he breathes heavily through his nose. “Fuck you, dude.” His voice is steady but his face is breaking out into a smile, so Niall just grins back.

“But!” Niall says, holding up a hand, “I got a tattoo for each of you.” He holds out his hand and curls it into a fist, so that his feathers are on display as each of his friends gather around him. “S’a feather. For each of you, yeah?”

“N’aw, Niall,” Harry gushes, “you’re so sweet.”

Niall shrugs and blushes. “Yeah well. I love you idiots and I got a tattoo for each of you. So. Yeah.”

There’s a pregnant pause until Liam coos. “Aw, my cute little baby is growing up!” And really. _Really?_ Fuck everything.

Fuck. Everything.

//

**Author's Note:**

> ...lmao what the fuck was that
> 
> please kudos and comment! i really like hearing feedback.
> 
> ALSO, i know i havent updated my other fic in like 12 days lmao but i've been writing two ziam things on top of that, so. sorry? everything flows better when i don't pressure myself, but i'll be updating it. soon enough, anyway - i've got the outline for the next couple of chapters, so it should be coming soon. hopefully. don't hold me to that.
> 
> come talk or yell at me on tumblr | beardy-zayn.tumblr.com


End file.
